Two sleepless nights in a row. And now I have to log into my work PC to finish stuff that should have been done last week. And, I’m sure, I’ll have plenty of e-mails asking what I did to (or why I didn’t) fix the fuckup.
(It’s because a meltdown was imminent. I e-mailed my boss a suggested solution, contacted Customer Service and then drank a whole bottle of wine. All in the same half-hour.)
My anxiety is still Through the Roof, to put it mildly.
When you have your past and your present at the same lunch table, as I saw Friday, you remember things.
I’m not saying any situation was ideal, and I can’t say one has been more-ideal than another. Both had their perks and frustrations.
I miss my old boss’ “No Meetings” rule. I mean, he took me all over the country to meet with experts and certainly we met with plenty of writers and such at home. But other than the occasional strategy or damage control session, we barely saw each other. And we lived four doors down from each other.
It’s … different now. Lots of meetings. I feel like I know Everything There is to Know about internal stuff. I would love to be in on more external discussions, like I used to be, but at some point in the day work actually has to get done.
Either way, the work-to-play ratio is unhealthy at best.
But I don’t want to imply it’s *just* a job driving me mad. Mom, cars, health, people — stuff I just can’t mention here that’s making me swoon at the thought of dealing with it by whatever deadline does or does not accompany it.
I think what bugs me most about the fuckup at work is not that I did it (and that it could have been avoided … and that the gal who logged in from home to help me and talk me off the ledge won’t get any credit), but that it could cost us money — money we worked SO HARD to make.
And even if the damage is minimal (which I expect it will be, realistically), it means the trust I have worked SO HARD to garner from a VERY difficult person may be in jeopardy.
The anticipated tongue-clack/told-you-so moment will make me have a Linda Blair moment, I can feel it.
The good news is, each day is a clean slate. And there will always be more fuckups to make. All told, I went about two and a half years without a moment like this, so I’d say maybe I’ll get some sleep SOMETIME this week once it’s blown over.
Lord, guide my steps (and muzzle my mouth) till I get to that point …